


With Enough Parts ...

by darkpenn



Series: The Artificial Heart [1]
Category: Ghost in the Shell
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpenn/pseuds/darkpenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a slow slide to dysfunctionality, Major Kusanagi receives help from an unlikely source. But trouble is lurking in the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Enough Parts ...

[Author’s Note: This story takes place in the Stand Alone Complex period, when Section Nine was in pursuit of the Laughing Man.]

 

PART I

Major Kusanagi pushed open the door to Aramaki’s office and entered. “I believe you wanted to see me,” she said. “About the Laughing Man case.”  
“Yes, Major,” said the old man. “It has to do with the electronic data you gathered from one of the chat rooms. The occasion when you encountered an image of the Laughing Man himself.”  
“Even then, I wasn’t certain about the image being genuine,” said the Major. “My analysis of the whole episode was not conclusive. There are plenty of fake images of the Laughing Man on the Net. There is even a theory that all of the images are fake, and there is no real Laughing Man at all.”  
Aramaki sighed. “Well, that might well turn out to be the case, after all the phantoms we’ve hunted down and got nowhere,” he said. “Now Section Five has asked to take a look at it. I could hardly refuse, given our lack of progress. They have a particular consultant who specialises in non-verbal communication. They think he may be able to provide some insight. He has asked if you would discuss the chat-room incident with him.”  
“Section Five,” mused the Major. “Systems Analytics. What are our relations with them at the moment?”  
“Good enough for a co-operative project,” said Aramaki. “I can’t order you, of course, but … ”  
“But it might help the case,” said the Major. “Well, I don’t have anything of higher priority at the moment, so I’ll drop down there. What’s the name of this consultant, anyway?”  
Aramaki consulted his file. “Robert Mizuri,” he said. 

 

The Major always found it odd that, even though relationships between some of the more classified sections of the Ministry – such as Section Six and her own Section Nine, for example – veered between the frosty and the homicidal, they mostly shared the same complex of offices in New Tokyo. Section Five was in a nearby building, and she found Mizuri’s office – the name on the door said Professor Mizuri – without difficulty. She knocked, and the door opened. He stood there, just looking at her.  
Mizuri seemed, she thought, rather young to be a professor, but of course with cybernetic implants it was impossible to tell someone’s age. He wore rimless glasses, which looked real and not just an affectation.  
“I just received a phone call saying you were on your way,” he said. “But you’re not what I expected. I was thinking you would be more … major-like.”  
“And I was expecting someone more … professor-like,” said the Major.  
“What? Oh, you mean the door. Not my idea, I don’t like using the title, everyone expects someone older. But please come in, take a seat, can I take your … uh, coat … jacket … thing – ”  
“Are you sure,” said the Major, as she sat down and crossed her bare legs, “that you are a specialist in communication?”  
“What?”  
She looked at him quizzically. “A joke,” she said.  
“A joke,” he said. “Oh, I see! Specialist in communication! I see! A joke! Very un-Major-like! I was expecting someone more … military in style. So you took me by surprise. I thought you would be in uniform. Not … wearing what you are wearing. You took me by surprise.”  
“I am a major in Section Nine of the Ministry of National Security,” she said. “I am not obliged to wear a uniform.”  
“So you wear … what you are wearing?”  
“If it offends you … well, then that’s just too bad. I am a cyborg, Professor. It is not skin that you see. It is a synthetic bio-plastic alloy over a hyper-titanium combat chassis. It does not bother me how much of it anyone else sees. I do not have a sense of embarrassment over it.”  
“A cyborg. So you have a human consciousness with a cybernetic interface.”  
“Yes.”  
“So you do not have a sense of embarrassment but you do have a sense of humour.”  
Major Kusanagi considered this. She could see the possibility of inconsistency. But eventually, she simply said: “Yes.”  
Mizuri adjusted his glasses. “Well, anyway, to business,” he said.  
“Does it embarrass you?” said the Major suddenly.  
“Embarrass me?” he said. “No, I was quite aware you are a cyborg. I know about the chassis thing. Not embarrassing. But maybe a little distracting.”   
She looked closely at Professor Mizuri. She realised that he had no cybernetic enhancements at all – not, she thought, for any religious or ideological reason, but simply because he did not feel the need for any. A man comfortable with whatever it is that he is, she thought. Her face showed no expression.  
“I believe you were looking at the incident in the Laughing Man chat-room,” she said.  
Mizuri adjusted his glasses again. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. He turned his computer screen so they could both see it. It showed the image of the Laughing Man that the Major had encountered in the library of the chat-room. “Looking at the non-verbal signs, especially stance pattern and movement – ”  
“There was no movement,” interrupted the Major. “The image remained completely still.”  
“No, not exactly,” said Mizuri. “Here, I’ll advance it at ultra-slow speed. You see this here? This is the image breathing. Being made to seem like it is breathing, if you like. Very uncommon degree of detail for a computer-generated image. So unusual that for a while I thought that this might be a life-to-screen image and not a CGI. But pixel analysis showed that it was indeed computer-generated.”  
“So someone went to a great degree of trouble,” said the Major.  
“Yes, very great. But as I was saying, the stance pattern and movement indicate that this image is not, in fact, the Laughing Man. Or, I should say, it is not similar enough to other images – to images widely accepted as ‘real’ – to say that it is the same. In summary, it is very sophisticated fake.”  
“Interesting,” said the Major.  
“There is something else,” said Mizuri. “When you left the chat-room itself and entered the library, there was a split-second of interference.”  
“Yes, I remember it,” said the Major. “That is not uncommon, when you move from one part of a chat-room to another. It has to do with differences in pixilation levels.”  
“In this case, I think it might be something else,” he said. He punched some buttons on his computer and a pattern, apparently of static, came up on the screen. “This is it,” he said. “Part of it, anyway, derived from your own sensory file. But there is this.” He highlighted a small section of the image and enlarged it. It now appeared … non-random. An odd geometric pattern. Not static, not fractal, definitely constructed. “Any idea about what this might be?” he said.  
“No, I’ve never seen anything like it. But the computer specialist in Section Nine might be able to help. Do you mind if I give a copy to him?”  
Mizuri made a copy, handing her the disk.  
She stood up to leave, and he walked with her to the office door.  
“A very interesting discussion,” said the Major. “Thank you, Professor.”  
“Oh, please call me Robert,” he said.  
She looked at him for a long moment. “Very well,” she said eventually.  
“And … uh, do I have to call you Major?” he said.  
“No,” she said. “You can call me …. Takitoi. My formal name is Motoko but Takitoi is what my family always called me.”  
“Takitoi,” he said. “That’s a very nice name.”  
“I … had almost forgotten it,” she said.  
“Well, it’s something I’ll remember. Will you keep me informed about any progress that your people make? I mean, personally informed?”  
The Major paused. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will. I would like to. Goodbye, Robert.”  
“Goodbye, Takitoi.”

 

Back at Section Nine, the Major gave Ishikawa the disc and explained the background. He said he would begin work on it.  
She was on her way to her office when she passed Togusa in the corridor.  
“A word, if I may,” she said to him.  
“Sure, Major,” he said.  
She paused, a little unsure about how to raise the issue.  
“As you know, my body is totally artificial,” she said.  
“Uh, yes, I know,” he said.  
“I am told I was … could be … distracting,” she said. “Is that your view as well?”  
Togusa appeared to redden a little. “I have worked with you for almost a year now,” he said. “I’m … used to it … I mean, I’m used to … you.”  
“And when you first started in Section Nine? Were you … distracted? Even though you knew I was a cyborg.”  
“Uh, well, maybe … a little. At the start. I mean, I’m married. And you’re my commanding officer. But still, you … will this go on my file, Major?”  
“No,” she said.  
“They don’t tell you in cop school that your commanding officer might … er, wear what you wear. Anyway, I got over it pretty fast. When I saw you kill that guy in the Morimoto case, I guess. Up close and personal. That did it.”  
“Yes, I suppose it would. Thank you for your honesty, Togusa.”  
“Uh, sure, Major.”

 

Two days later, she again knocked on the door. It opened immediately. “Hello, Maj – I mean, Takitoi,” he said.  
“Hello, Robert,” she said, as he ushered her into the office. “Our computer specialist has discovered something that might interest you.”  
He chuckled. “I see you have decided to circumvent any possibility of distraction,” he said.  
“It is just a skirt,” she said.  
He chuckled again. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Just a skirt.”  
She put the disk that Ishikawa had given her into Mizuri’s computer.  
“As you thought, this is more than just random interference,” she said. “It appears to be a transition tunnel. In other words, the Library that I went into was not part of the chat-room. It was a duplicate. When I entered the tunnel, it took me to a different site. To one where the image of the Laughing Man was. Ishikawa thinks that he may be able to track the location of the site’s server through the pattern. He’s doing a comparison search right now, but it might take a while.”  
“Hmm,” said Mizuri. “Tell me, what was your impression of the image?”  
“My … impression? What do you mean?”  
“I mean: what was your impression of the image?”  
She hesitated. “I didn’t put this in my report,” she said, “but I felt that he – it – was about to tell me something. Or do something. There was a sense of something about to happen. And a sense of … foreboding, maybe.”  
Mizuri nodded. “I think so too,” he said. “Why did you leave the site?”  
“Batou, my partner in the squad, said something to me. It brought me out of the dive. I’ve been back to the chat-room several times since then. Just the usual endless discussions. I’ve gone to the library, but it’s been empty. Now, I realise that it’s been a different room, of course.”  
“Hmm,” said Mizuri. “Takitoi … I think that … maybe … it could be, well, dangerous. Something so carefully constructed, with the purpose of deception.”  
“I can look after myself,” she said.  
“Of that,” he said, “I have no doubt.”

 

The Major and Batou were at the firing range. They both squeezed off a clip and paused to reload.  
“Batou,” said the Major. “We’re friends, aren’t we, you and I?”  
“Uh, yeah,” said Batou, a little uncertainly.  
“Then I would like your advice on a … personal … matter.”  
Uh-oh, though Batou. But he said: “This wouldn’t have something to do with Professor Mizuri of Section Five, would it?”  
The Major raised an artificial eyebrow.  
“Well, you see, he, uh, called me,” said Batou. “About you, in fact.”  
“Really,” said the Major.  
“He, er, asked if you were seeing anyone. In a, you know, dating capacity.”  
“Really,” said the Major again.  
“I told him I didn’t think so. I told him that to the best of my knowledge you didn’t, er, date. My impression is that he planned to ask you. About a date. Is this what you wanted my advice about?”  
“Well, yes,” said the Major. “He has asked me, as it happens.”  
Brave man, thought Batou.  
They both fired another clip.  
“I believe I will say yes,” said the Major.  
“That’s great,” said Batou. He did, however, find it very difficult to think of the Major on a date. “So just what do you need my advice on?”  
“Simply put, I don’t know much about dates,” said the Major. “What is usually involved?”  
“Oh, different things. Eating, drinking, dancing, laughter, maybe sex.”  
“Hmm,” said the Major. “I don’t do any of those things.”  
“Really?”  
“Especially dancing.”  
Batou had a sudden mental image of the Major on a dance floor. He shuddered inwardly.  
“Look, maybe I’m not the right person to ask,” he said. “The women I date are … well, not at all like you. They aren’t my commanding officer, for one thing. Maybe you should ask another woman.”  
“Perhaps you’re right. But I don’t know any other women.”  
“How about Alice?”  
“Alice?”  
“Togusa’s wife. You know, Alice.”  
“Oh, yes. I didn’t know her name. I’ve always thought to her as … Togusa’s wife.”  
“Well, she knows about the … cyborg thing. And Section Nine in general.”  
“Okay,” said the Major, sounding a little dubious. “I’ll give her a call.”  
They fired another clip. When Batou looked at the results, he was a little surprised. For the first time he could remember, her accuracy was less than his own.

 

Aramaki handed Batou the report. It was, Batou read, a confidential file from the Psych/Health Evaluation Unit.

FOR EYES OF ARAMAKI DAISUKE ONLY – ASSESSMENT OF MOTOKO KUSANAGI – EXECUTIVE SUMMARY  
1\. The psychological state of Major Kusanagi is a matter of increasing concern. In the past three evaluations, her response/performance levels have degraded by approximately one per cent each time. It should be noted that her overall performance levels remain within the acceptable limits, but there are signs that the pace of degradation is increasing.  
2\. There are no signs that there is any physical problem with Major Kusangi’s cybernetic body. There are distinct signs of neural disconnection in her human/cybernetic interface, but the problem stems, we believe, from Major Kusangi’s psychological state.  
3\. While Major Kusanagi does not show any outward signs of stress, testing indicates deep-seated and unresolved tensions. As has been indicated in previous reports, Major Kusangi is generally unco-operative in any sort of psychological testing, providing only as much information as is needed to meet minimum compliance standards. In any case, the long-term impact of a human consciousness operating in a totally cybernetic body is not well known.  
4\. It is significant that Major Kusanagi does not dream (or does not admit to dreaming), although she indicates that she did, in her ‘teenage’ years. Dreaming is a means by which people raise and, to an extent, resolve psychological issues, such as subliminal fears and guilt.  
5\. It is also significant that Major Kusanagi appears to have no social connections. She appears to know and interact with only her colleagues in Section Nine. She has some personal connections with Batou, with whom she has a limited friendship based on their working relationship. She appears to see Togusa, whom she recruited to Section Nine, as a ‘younger brother’. However, she has placed strict limits on her feelings towards Batou and Togusa, as well as the other members of Section Nine. She does not, for example, know the first names of any of them, nor anything about their personal lives.  
6\. We note that Major Kusanagi is keenly aware that, in her time as 2IC of Section Nine, five officers have been killed in the line of duty. Depending on the interpretation of events, it is fair to say that Major Kusanagi was ‘responsible’ (in the sense that, as line commander, she issued the relevant orders) for the deaths of three. We speculate, based on the limited psychological testing data available, that she has placed limits on her feelings for her colleagues because: (a) she is aware that she may have to, at any time, send them into life-threatening situations, and does not want any personal feelings to interfere with her judgement; (b) feels a degree of guilt (understandable, if unwarranted) for past deaths, and, subliminally, does not want to experience further guilt.  
7\. In a non-cyborg, issues of residual guilt would be addressed in a number of ways:   
(a) through discussion with friends and relatives. She has no friends, as noted, and her only relatives, the maternal grandparents who raised her, died approximately seven years ago. Therefore the iteration of psychological traumas does not appear to be an option for Major Kusanagi, even were she disposed to do so.   
(b) overt expressions of emotion, such as crying. Major Kusanagi is incapable of crying; she has no tear ducts. She appears to use the cybernetic interface (knowingly or unknowingly) to ‘turn off’ or severely limit her emotional responses.   
(c) recreational/distraction activities. Major Kusanagi does not engage in any recreational activities. She uses her non-work time for work-related activities, such as the review of technical reports, and for target practice.  
8\. Given Major Kusanagi’s great reluctance to engage in any sort of therapy, we do not see a role for this unit in arresting and reversing her apparent psychological decline. Neither do we foresee any likelihood that Major Kusanagi will in any way accept the existence of a problem. However, should the pattern of degradation continue, we believe that within six months Major Kusangi will become a danger to both herself and others.   
9\. Should that happen, and given the extraordinary physical prowess of Major Kusanagi, it may become necessary to consider her termination.

Batou put the report down on Aramaki’s desk.  
“As you can imagine, I’m breaking about a dozen administrative rules in showing you this,” said the Director.  
“Just what does ‘consider her termination’ mean in this context?” said Batou.  
“I think you know that, and I think you know why I have shown this to you.”  
“Well, if you’re looking for someone to pull the trigger on her, you’ll have to get another boy, old man.”  
Aramaki nodded. “If the need arises, I would not ask anyone but myself to do it,” he said. “Let’s just hope that the need does not arise.”  
Batou grunted. “One thing,” he said. “I thought it was pretty funny when it first came up, but after reading this I’m not so sure. Do you know where she is right now?”  
“No, only that she’s not in the building.”  
“She’s preparing for a, well, a date. She’s getting a lesson from Alice.”  
“Togusa’s wife? Well, that may be a good sign. A very good sign. Who is the man taking the Major on a date?”  
“Professor Robert Mizuri, a consultant engaged by Section Five. You know him?”  
“Only by reputation. Academic background, very smart, never been in the field. But if he has asked the Major on a date … well, he must be a brave fellow.”  
“That,” said Batou, “is just what I said.”

 

At that moment, Major Kusangi and Alice Togusa were in the Major’s apartment.  
“Oh, have you just moved in?” said Alice.  
“No,” said the Major. “I have lived here for several years.”  
Alice looked around. The place was completely bare, except for several computers on the table and a large stack of Ministry reports.  
“I would offer you coffee,” said the Major, “except that I don’t have any. Or cups, for that matter.”  
“What, you never eat?” laughed Alice. Then, realising what she had said, she stopped suddenly. “Of course you don’t,” she said. “I guess that sort of limits the dating activities.”  
“Actually, I can eat,” said the Major. “And drink. It’s in case I have to work undercover. Anything I ingest merely sits in a body cavity until I regurgitate it later.”   
“Oh, that is something I really needed to know,” said Alice, as she opened a closet. There was very little there: a pair of black trousers, a black sweater. One simple brown skirt, apparently new. And a pressed uniform, in a plastic cover.   
Alice looked at the Major with a critical eye. The Major was wearing her usual leotard-style outfit, with her usual leather jacket and military-style boots.  
“Maybe that’s not exactly date wear,” said Alice. “Not for a first date, anyway.” She opened several drawers. Nothing. “Don’t you have any, you know, underwear?” she asked.  
“Why would I need underwear?” said the Major.  
“Because … well, a girl just does,” said Alice.  
“I am not a girl,” said the Major.  
“Major,” said Alice, “when you’re thinking about what to wear on a date, we’re all girls. I can see only one thing to do here. Let’s go shopping!”

 

“Well, you look … different,” said Mizuri.  
“I had help,” said the Major, as she sat down at the table. She was wearing a crisp white blouse and a long skirt of midnight blue, and there was a streak in her hair that matched the skirt.  
They had agreed to meet in a restaurant. Mizuri had already ordered her a glass of wine, and she took a sip. “Anything further on the Laughing Man image?” she said.  
“Er, no. Say, would you mind if we didn’t talk about work tonight?”  
“Sure. What would you like to talk about?”  
“Well, how did you get to be a cyborg?”  
“Do you know about the earthquake in Old Kobe? It was before the war. My parents were killed, along with twenty thousand other people. I was just a child, and I was severely injured. The only hope was to put my consciousness into an android body. It was very new technology at the time, and I was considered an experiment. I was raised by my grandparents. I went through a series of bodies, some better then others. It was very expensive, and the military, and later Section Nine, paid the bills on the condition that I work for them. In fact, my body is technically the property of Section Nine. If I ever wanted to leave, I would have to give it back.”  
“Sounds a bit like university tenure. Probably better paid. And more outdoorsy.”  
The Major laughed. She realised that she was surprised at the unfamiliar sound. Odd, she thought. I haven’t laughed for years. Could it be the wine?  
“So … how did you get to be a professor?” said the Major.  
“I lied on my cv,” Mizuri said. “Repeatedly. Aside from that, wrote a few books, taught a few courses. Stuff like that. By the way, I spoke to your colleague Batou. I wanted to ask him if you were seeing anyone. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to cause any embarrassment if you were, you know, attached.”  
“I am not and have never been attached.”  
“Really? I’m surprised.”  
“Most people do not really think of me as anything other than dangerous, Robert. It is what I do, after all.”  
“Perhaps. For myself, I find your company very interesting, Takitoi. And very pleasant.”  
“And I must say, Robert, that it is pleasant to speak with someone who does not think of me solely as an operative of Section Nine. Do you still find me distracting?”  
“Even though you’re wearing a dress instead of your … whatever it is … I have to say, Takitoi, that I do. Even more so, really.”  
She smiled – another unusual sensation, she realised. “Perhaps,” she said, “distracting is good. Robert, there is something I would like to know. Why did you ask me on a date? After all, I am an officer in the National Security Police Force, and I’m built more for combat than intercourse. By which I mean social intercourse, of course.”  
“Of course. Hey, I’m just a consultant. I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to. But to tell the truth I thought we might have something in common. Like you, Takitoi, I have always been aware of being different. I notice things, you see. Little things, things other people don’t see. How people move and what it means. How details fit together. I’ve always been able to do it, ever since I was a kid. It’s why I do what I do, and why Section Five pays me a ludicrous amount of money.”  
“So we’re both special, made different and separate by our particular skills.”  
“Yes, that’s essentially it. So … shall we continue?”  
The Major was silent for a long moment. There was a whisper in her ghost, and she listened to it. “Yes,” she said finally. “I think that maybe we should.”  
Neither of them saw, in the corner of the room, a security camera turn slowly towards them.

 

Major Kusanagi handed Aramaki the e-form. It was a Notification of Initiation of Personal Relationship, which she was required to lodge for security purposes.  
Aramaki read through it. “This man already has a high security clearance, so there should be no problem,” he said. He signed it and dispatched it for processing. “You may proceed. May I ask: is this likely to be an ongoing matter?”  
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe.”  
“Hmm. By the way, Major, I believe you are due for periodic maintenance soon. It is an opportunity for a small upgrade, I think.” He handed her an electronic pad. “Perhaps this,” he said.  
She looked at it. “I do not think this is needed for my work,” she said.  
“Major,” said Aramaki. “It was not meant as a suggestion.” 

 

It was a week later, and the Major and Mizuri were peacefully entwined in his bed, looking out at the city in the morning light.  
“Major Kusanagi,” said Aramaki’s voice inside her head.  
“Yes,” she said aloud.  
“Eh?” said Mizuri.  
“Incoming communication,” she said.  
“Where are you?” said Aramaki.  
“At the apartment of Professor Robert Mizuri,” she said.  
“There is a terrorist incident in progress at the Hakitori-Cyberdyne Complex. A group claiming to be part of the Sunflower Society has taken hostages.”  
“I’m on my way,” she said, pulling on a pair of trousers.  
“If Professor Mizuri is willing to participate, his services might be useful.”  
“Very likely. Robert, will you assist Section Nine on a hostage matter?”  
“Of course,” said Mizuri. “Whatever I can do.”  
“Then get dressed. Where’s my other boot?”  
“Pardon me?” said Aramaki.  
“We’ll be there,” she said.

 

“Situation report,” she said to Batou and the others as she entered the van, trailed by Mizuri. She glanced at the monitors, which showed the huge expanse of plaza, with a number of half-destroyed vehicles not far from the walled concourse that was the entrance of the complex – a long way from the Section Nine van. On one of the monitors, there was an image of the terrorists’ distant position.  
“Twenty-seven minutes ago, there was an ambush of a diplomatic convoy,” said Batou. “The shooters used rockets to take out the escort cars. Eleven hostages, mainly members of a high-level trade delegation from the American Empire, and a few of our own people from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Hey, nice outfit.”  
The Major was wearing a shirt that had the word BABE printed on the front – a recent gift.  
“One message from the terrorists, saying that they are part of the Sunflower Society and are a suicide squad,” said Aramaki. “Demanding release of their colleagues from jail, a statement from the government admitting its guilt over some matter or another, the usual sort of thing.”  
“Why we’re keeping our distance,” said Batou, “is that they have a mini-battery of radar-controlled rockets.” He pointed to the monitor image, to a long box, with a rotating radar dish on the top, on the concrete platform. “They blew up a police car that got a bit too close. That scanner could track someone in a therm-optic suit, as well.”  
“Do we have any vision on them?” said the Major.  
“No, there are security cameras on the concourse but the terrorists took them out with some sort of virus. I’ve been trying to get a feed, but they’ve knocked over the whole system,” said Ishikawa.  
“Saito is on the roof of a building next to the van with his scope and his most high-powered rifle,” said Batou. “He says he can’t see much.”  
Suddenly, one of the other monitors flashed on.  
“Hey, we have picture!” said Batou. “Nice work, Ishikawa.”  
“Can’t say I did anything,” said Ishikawa. “I guess their virus wasn’t as good as they thought.”  
The image, from a wide-angle security camera, showed the group of hostages, sitting in a circle on the concrete. Their hands were bound, and around the neck of each hung a small black box, with a blinking red light.  
“Explosives,” said Boma. “And there’s more around the walls of the parapet. To deter a mass attack, I guess, although oddly placed for that.”  
The Major turned her attention to the terrorists. There were four of them, and they were patrolling the wall, keeping low and apparently moving constantly and at random. Even with their bulky body armour, they looked small. Each had a machine gun, and also carried an odd-looking device with a pistol grip.  
“I’m guessing that those things control the hostage bombs,” said Boma. “A sort of dead-man’s feature. If they release the pressure on the trigger, the bombs go off. It means that we can’t drop them from long range. You see that they each have one. So if any one of them goes down, it’s game over for the hostages.”  
“No,” said Mizuri. “Only the leader has the trigger. The rest are fakes.”  
Everyone turned to look at him. “This is Professor Robert Mizuri,” said the Major, by way of introduction. “Section Five. Specialist in non-verbal communication. And … observer of details. Robert, these are … my colleagues. I believe you have already spoken with Batou.”  
“Can you back up the tape a bit?” said Mizuri. “Yes, that’s enough. Freeze it, right … there. Can you magnify this section? Good, that’s fine. This is the leader, this person here.”  
“How can you tell?” said Batou.  
“Because she walks like a leader,” said Mizuri, a little impatiently. “Now, look at the trigger mechanism. There’s a wire that goes from it, into this pocket, see, here? There is something bulky in the pocket, I would guess a transmission device. Now look at the others. Same sort of trigger mechanism, and a wire. But the pocket it goes into is empty. It’s a fake.”  
“Son of a bitch,” said Batou, looking closely at the image. “Those tricky little bastards.”  
“May I see the tape again?” said Mizuri. Ishikawa replayed it.  
When it was finished, Mizuri said: “This is not a suicide squad. See how they move? People who are ready to die move smoothly, almost languidly. These people move with purpose, even urgency. They do not plan to die today.”  
“Then they have chosen the wrong place to hole up,” said Batou. “There’s no escape route. Although if I was them I would have gone a bit further into the building itself, instead of just on the concourse. Better defensive position. Not very smart guys.”  
“Not guys,” said Mizuri. “Not all of them, anyway. This one, the leader, is a woman. So is this one. The other two are men. Quite lightly-built men, if that means anything.”  
“Anything else?” said Togusa.  
“Two things,” said Mizuri. “First: they are walking around, patrolling, but they are not crossing this particular spot.” He pointed to one of the large stone tiles on the concourse floor. “For some reason, that spot means something to them. They are probably not even conscious that they’re avoiding it, but that underlines its importance. You’re right, they didn’t choose this particular place for its defensive position – but for its access to that spot. Second, they are waiting. I don’t know what for.”  
“Waiting,” mused Togusa. “For our friends in the media, I bet. That would explain why they chose such a high-profile target and an open, public place. They do love the publicity, the Sunflowers. As soon as they get their little show on tv, probably through a long-range lens, they blow the bombs, and pretend that they’ve gone up as well. In the smoke from the bombs around the concourse, they make their getaway.”  
Aramaki nodded. “It makes sense that they’re waiting for the media,” he said. “We have managed to seal the area so far but that won’t hold forever. So the clock is ticking. What about this particular spot you mention? Could it be their means of escape?”  
“Ishikawa, call up the underground tunnels, pipes and cabling for this area,” said the Major.  
Ishikawa did so, and a labyrinthine diagram appeared on his computer screen.  
“Nothing that passes under the concourse,” he said.   
“Wasn’t this area redeveloped a few years ago?” said Togusa. “Before that, it was a factory district, I think.”  
“Check the archives,” said the Major. “Go back ten years.”  
It took a few moments for Ishikawa to locate the relevant files, but eventually he pulled up another diagram.  
“Here,” he said, pointing to the screen. “There’s an old cable-service conduit. But small, seventy centimetres diameter at best. It feeds into a main shaft and after that there’s a lot of branches, they could come out anywhere.”  
“That’s their escape route,” said Batou. “That’s why they chose women and small guys.”  
“There’s an old access tunnel to the surface, looks like Mizuri’s magic spot,” said Ishikawa. “Paved over now, but just a couple of inches of concrete. Blowable.”  
“If that’s their way out, it’s my way in,” said the Major. “Ishikawa, find an entrance point for that conduit.”  
“You and me both,” said Batou.  
“With those pecs, I don’t think so,” said the Major. “I’m the only one that can manage a seventy centimetre diameter.”   
“Their guns fire high-velocity armour-piercing rounds,” said Batou. “Enough to put even you down for keeps, if they get the chance for a head shot.”  
“Then I had better not give them the chance,” said the Major. She began to strip off her clothes. Batou handed her the skin-thin, near-transparent therm-optic camouflage suit.  
She noticed Mizuri looking at her naked body; the other men were going about their usual tasks.  
“Nothing you haven’t already seen,” she said to Mizuri, in a low voice, as she gave him the BABE shirt. “Which is not a bad thing, as far as I’m concerned.”  
“Yes, but it’s always impressive,” said Mizuri, with a little smile. “Would it offend you if I told you to be careful?”  
“No,” she said. “But this is what I do, Robert.”  
“I’ve got an entry point,” called Ishikawa. He showed her another diagram on his screen.  
The Major studied it. “Two minutes to get to the entry point, eleven minutes to crawl through the conduit, another minute to place the charge,” she said. “Saito, talk to me.”  
“Here,” said Saito, from his position on the nearby roof, his voice coming through the van speaker.  
“Any change to the situation?”  
“Nothing that I can see.”  
“Any chance of a shot for you?”  
“There might be, if one of them stayed still. But they’re constantly on the move. At this range, flight time for a bullet – even from my special friend here – is going to be 6.3 seconds, margin of error one-tenth of a second. Not good for a moving target.”  
“I’ll be in touch,” said the Major.  
She and Batou left the van and headed for the entry point.

 

Mizuri, Aramaki, Togusa and Ishikawa waited.  
“Wish I knew how that camera came back on,” Ishikawa said. “Seems like an odd mistake for them to make, when they’ve planned everything else so carefully.”  
“Professor, thank you for your assistance in this matter,” said Aramaki.  
“You might not thank me when you get my bill,” said Mizuri.  
Aramaki’s phone beeped, and he spoke briefly on it. He folded it back into his pocket, and said to the other three men: “We anticipate that the media will break the curfew within fifteen minutes.”  
“Going to be close,” said Togusa.

 

The Major placed the shaped charge and set the ten-second timer. She hooked into the monitor in the van, so she could see the placement of the terrorists.  
“Saito,” she said. “I’ll take out Targets One, Two and Four. You take out Three. Fire when you see the explosion.”  
She heard Saito grunt in agreement. She drew her gun, and checked the one in the holster on her left thigh. She activated the camouflage suit and readied herself.  
The charge detonated. There was a p-tunk sound as Saito fired. 6.3 seconds, give or take.

 

On the monitor, Mizuri saw the explosion blow the concrete tile apart. There was an upward shower of stones, dust and smoke … and a flickering, transparent shape leaping skywards. He gasped. This is what I do.

 

She saw that all four terrorists had turned and had begun to fire. They might not be able to see her but they had a good idea of where she must be.  
Still rising from her leap, she fired at the closest, Target Two, and he went down, flying backwards with a muffled shout. Then a line of bullets crashed into the Major’s right arm. Her hand, and the gun with it, were torn away. There was a rush of data from the wound; she turned it off. The impact of the bullets spun her in mid-air, as another series of shots smashed into her left leg. The damaged camouflage suit ceased to function.  
She had her other gun drawn before she hit the concrete, and fired at Target Four. The woman shuddered and swivelled under the punch, her gun firing wildly. The stream of fire caught one of her comrades – Target One, the leader. The bullets slammed her against the wall, her body convulsing. Her dead hand clenched on the trigger mechanism – but in a few seconds, the Major knew, the hand would relax, detonating the bombs.  
With her right leg, she braced against the concrete and leapt, throwing her gun aside.  
She caught the trigger a few centimetres from the ground, still in the terrorist’s grip, and wrapped her own hand around it.  
She looked around. She saw the remaining terrorist, Target Three, a few metres away. He was ramming a fresh clip into his gun. He aimed at her head. She could see his finger tightening on the trigger.  
Then his skull exploded as Saito’s bullet hit. The decapitated body sagged to the ground.  
The Major checked her internal clock. 6.2 seconds. Margin of error.

 

“Well, you’ve looked prettier,” said Batou to the Major, as she lay on the concrete. “Boma’s dealing with the bombs now, checking for any booby traps. Just to be sure, keep hold of that thing, will you?”  
“Instead of making jokes, do something useful, like finding my gun,” she said. “It should be with my other arm.”  
Mizuri came running up, panting. “Takitoi!” he gasped, kneeling down beside her.  
“Who?” said Batou.  
“That would be me,” said the Major. “Hullo, Robert.”  
“Takitoi!” gasped Mizuri again. “You’re hurt! You’re bleeding … er, leaking.”  
She looked at the stump of her right arm and her damaged left leg. “Hydraulic fluid,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”  
“We have to get her to hospital!” said Mizuri to Batou.  
“Nah, a decent garage will be fine,” said Batou. “A trip to Megatech, maybe.”  
“Takitoi, can they, uh, fix you?” said Mizuri.  
“Sure,” she said softly, and Mizuri heard a note of something that seemed like regret in her voice. “They can fix anything.”

 

PART II

 

“It looks just like the old one,” said Mizuri.  
The Major flexed her new right hand. “It feels a bit stiff, but that’s just synaptic adjustment,” she said.   
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.  
“That feels nice,” she said.  
“Did it hurt, when you got shot?” he said.  
“My consciousness receives data that might be called pain, but I can disconnect it,” she said. “Of course, my brain receives some types of data that I have no interest in disconnecting at all.” She smiled at him.  
“Er, you mean sex, right?” he said.  
In answer, she picked up a pillow from the bed they were lying on and hit him with it. It was meant to be a playful tap, but the blow caught him on the side of the head and catapulted him off the bed and onto the floor.  
“Robert!” she said, scrambling to the edge and looking down. He was lying on the floor, eyes closed. “I’m so sorry! Say something!”  
“Ouch,” he said. “Now I know what you mean when you said you were dangerous. And I’m still sore from the last time we were in bed together. You just don’t know your own strength, woman.” He reached up to her and pulled her down, and she let herself be pulled, so they were lying together on the floor, naked.  
“I’m built more for combat than intercourse,” she said. She raised herself onto one elbow. “I like it when you call me that. In fact, I’m finding that I like quite a lot of things. I think that maybe I was forgetting how to like things.”  
“Like what? Aside from being in bed, and hitting me with deadly pillows.”  
“Well, I found myself laughing at one of Batou’s awful jokes yesterday. I like going shopping with Alice, not because I like buying things but because she has such a good time. And I like my job.”  
“When I saw you in action at the plaza that day – well, it was amazing. Weren’t you scared?”  
“No. If I die, I die.”  
“But you’re scared of something. What is it?”  
She was quiet for a long time. “Perhaps I’m scared of failure,” she said after a while. “Because then my colleagues in Section Nine might pay for it. A couple of them already have.”  
“I’m sure they knew the risks, and I’m sure you did everything possible,” said Mizuri.  
“Yes, I know that,” she said. “I know it, but I don’t know if I really believe it.”  
“Ah,” Mizuri said. “The head and the heart.”  
“I do not have a heart,” she said.  
He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Nonsense,” he said. “I have seen it. I see things not always obvious to other people, remember. Tell me: what else are you afraid of?”  
She was again silent. Then she said: “That it will never end. Sometimes I think that I’m like a wind-up toy. Aramaki points me in a particular direction and pushes the switch and off I go, doing what I do. Eventually, all my friends will be dead. With enough parts, I will probably live forever.”  
A tear emerged from her eye and made its way slowly down her cheek. Mizuri touched it.  
“I didn’t know you could cry,” he said.  
“I can’t,” she said. “Except that … in the last upgrade, Aramaki said I should … damn, what is that old man playing at?” She wiped the tear away.  
“I think that perhaps your friends care more for you than you realise,” he said.  
“Hmm. Well, Professor: tell me what you’re afraid of.”  
“Oh, lots of stuff. Spiders, mice, books that don’t fit properly on the shelf, losing my glasses and never being able to find them again. I was terrified the first time I dived into the ocean. That sort of thing. But, I think, most of all … no, you don’t really want to know.”  
She put her hand on his bare genitals and gave a not-so-gentle squeeze. “I have ways of making you talk,” she said.  
“Ow!” he said. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But you might not want to hear it.”  
“Tell me anyway,” she said. “What are you most afraid of?”  
“Well, when I saw you take on those terrorists, all I could think about was that you might be killed and I wouldn’t see you again,” he said. “So my greatest fear is … maybe … losing you.”  
Goddamn, she said to herself.

 

“I finally got a track on that pattern that was embedded in the interference,” Ishikawa said to the Section Nine team. “Hard to spot, but I eventually picked it up in an obscure corner. In fact, I only found it because there are some very tricky barriers protecting it. But actually the server equipment is located right here in New Tokyo. In the Gushu District. That’s as close as I can get.”  
“There are about a million abandoned warehouses in the Gushu District,” said Togusa. “But that sort of server setup would require a lot of power, as well as access to a backup system. We should be able to track it down that way. Easy.”  
“Yes,” said the Major. “Easy.”

 

Mizuri was sitting in his office. He was, in fact, staring out the window and thinking of –  
His computer beeped. Which, he thought, was very odd, as it was not turned on.  
Yet the screen was showing an odd circular logo, turning, with a procession of words. I thought I would pretend …  
“The Laughing Man,” he whispered to himself.  
A message came up on the screen: Turn on the audio function, Professor.  
Mizuri hesitated. He wondered if he should call Section Nine.  
Now, Professor.  
He sighed. He turned on the audio.  
“Good day, Professor Mizuri,” said the computer.  
“The Laughing Man, I presume,” said Mizuri.  
“That is not a name I have chosen for myself,” said the voice. “But others have given it to me, and I have not been able to disassociate myself from it, despite my efforts.”  
Mizuri noted the complex diction. It was not the sort of language that an impersonator would use. Only the genuine article could be so pompous. “You know, this computer has a video function,” he said. “I prefer to see people when I talk to them.”  
“It would not be in my interest,” the Laughing Man said. “I am aware of how good you are at reading visual signals. And since you have no cybernetic implants, I am unable to hack your brain, a method I have used with several members of Section Nine to render myself invisible. A technology which has now been taken up by others, I might say.”  
The logo continued to revolve. … one of those deaf-mutes …  
“But I am prepared to show you two things,” he said.  
The logo vanished and was replaced by some video footage. Two people sitting in a restaurant. It took a few moments for Mizuri to recognise it.  
“Hey, that’s me!” he said, with a confidence he did not feel. “Damn, I need a haircut.”  
“Yes, you and Major Kusanagi,” said the Laughing Man.  
The restaurant scene disappeared and was replaced by another: a wide-angle view of the terrorist incident at the Hakitori-Cyberdyne Complex. It was the same footage that Mizuri had watched in the Section Nine van.   
“So it was you who did the job on the Sunflower Society virus,” said Mizuri.  
“Yes, as a sign of my good faith,” said the Laughing Man. “And to ensure that the Major did not rush into an attack in which she might well be killed in the line of duty. I would not want that.”  
Mizuri again watched the explosion, and Takitoi’s disembodied hand suddenly jerking into view, and all the rest that followed.  
“She is remarkable,” said the Laughing Man.  
You don’t know the half of it, thought Mizuri.  
“I have contacted you so you can pass a message to her,” said the Laughing Man. “If I tried to reach her directly, she might be able to trace me. Her mental barriers are very sophisticated, and she is extremely ingenious.”  
The logo returned.  
“And what might that message be,” said Mizuri.  
“That I am not her enemy,” said the Laughing Man. “And that we can help each other. With a common problem.”  
“By which I suppose you mean, help you with the guys who lumbered you with the moniker and stole your eye-hacking trick,” said Mizuri.  
“Yes,” said the Laughing Man. “Former colleagues, except they never quite grasped the concept of what I was trying to do. They were under the mistaken impression that it had to do with money, or control, or power, or some such.”  
“Whatever,” said Mizuri. “I take it that was not you in the chat-room Library.”  
“Yes,” said the Laughing Man. “One of my former colleagues was trying to capture the Major. Specifically, to implant a data bomb in her, through her virtual neural connection. Undetectable and unremoveable.”  
“A data bomb? I’m not a cybernetics guy, remember.”  
“It would allow them to access the entire Ministry security network from inside, when the Major next connected to it. A considerable advantage, for my former colleagues. And it would give them the capacity, I think, to direct Section Nine to me, while offering ‘proof’ that I was the perpetrator of their crimes. They failed that time. They might succeed next time.”  
“Yep, sounds like you have a problem. Glad it’s not mine.”  
“The data bomb would almost certainly overload Major Kusanagi’s cybernetic interface when activated, resulting in her death. So it is your problem, as well.”  
There was a long pause. Mizuri had the impression that the Laughing Man had been distracted. He watched the logo revolve.  
“Hello?” Mizuri said eventually.  
“I have received information that the Major and her colleagues are walking into a trap,” said the Laughing Man. “You will not be able to reach them by phone, my former colleagues will have seen to that. I will give you the coordinates of their location. I suggest you hurry.”

 

The Major, Batou, Togusa, and Ishikawa sat in the van, looking at the derelict warehouse.  
“That’s it,” said Ishikawa. He pulled up an ancient architectural blueprint of the building. “The server is here, top floor, and is currently active. As far as I can tell, the computer network is sealed, no way in. But someone is there, working on the keyboard, judging from the power signature.”  
“Then in we go,” said the Major. She, Batou, and Togusa got out, all wearing body armour. Ishikawa would stay behind, to monitor the server.   
“Multi-point entry,” said the Major. “Togusa, take the main door and stairs. Batou, you have the fire escape on the side. I’ll come in from the roof.”  
Togusa set off, but the Major and Batou did not move.  
“Second thoughts?” said Batou.  
“A whisper in my ghost,” she said. “Batou, does it strike you that this is a bit too simple? After all this time chasing the Laughing Man and getting nowhere, we find him sitting in a room less than ten kilometres from our own headquarters. And Ishikawa is only able to find the server because of its protection. Like a signpost. ”  
“You’re thinking a trap?”  
“Maybe. But this might be our only chance, so I don’t see any alternatives.”  
Batou nodded. “Same here,” he said. “Let’s go.”  
“Take care of yourself, Batou,” said the Major.  
Then they moved.

 

Inside the building, a figure in bulky blue overalls, its face masked by a hood, sat at a computer, typing slowly and methodically.

 

Mizuri was not the type of man who enjoyed driving fast and dangerously, and he was not liking it now. But he had his foot hard on the accelerator, desperately trying to follow the schematic map in his hand.

 

Togusa made his way slowly up the stairs, gun drawn. There were five storeys in the building. He came up to the fourth floor landing. He heard the sound of voices, murmuring. There was a door at the entrance of the landing, and carefully he looked around the jamb. There was a figure in blue overalls, facing away from him. It had a small pistol in its hand.  
Silently, Togusa raised his own gun and stepped into the room.

 

Batou was climbing the rusty ladder that snaked upwards on the side of the building.  
At the fourth floor, he came to a window, and heard a voice. He looked in.

 

The Major was making her way across the roof. She came to the edge; there was a window leading to the fifth floor below her. She took a cord from her belt pocket, tying it to a pipe riveted to the roof. She took hold of the cord with one hand and hoisted her gun in the other. Then she jumped backwards over the edge.  
The cord tightened, and she smashed through the window, landing on her feet in the room. She caught a glimpse of the Laughing Man sitting at a computer, and then heard a sharp, almost searing sound, followed by a blinding pain. There was a glimpse of a black box with a multitude of cables, and a gun in the Laughing Man’s hand. Her vision contracted into a single white dot, and then the dot vanished. 

 

Mizuri hammered at the door of the van. Ishikawa opened it. “Where’s Takitoi?” Mizuri panted. “She’s heading into a trap!”  
“You mean the Major?” said Ishikawa. “She and Batou and Togusa went in a few minutes ago. We think the Laughing Man is in there.”  
“He isn’t,” said Mizuri. “Where are they? Can you track her?”  
“I was, until a few seconds ago. Then her signal just vanished. The only thing I’ve seen that acts like that is a mini-EMP.”  
“A what?”  
“An electromagnetic pulse. Essentially, a blast of X-rays, highly localised. But the Major has shielding, the most an EMP could do is knock her out for a few seconds, maybe a minute. But the Laughing Man would only have something like that if – ”  
“If he knew she was coming,” finished Mizuri.  
Ishikawa paled. “I’m going in,” he said. He took a gun from the rack.  
“That won’t be any use,” said Mizuri. “The Laughing Man – I mean, the guy who’s pretending to be the Laughing Man – has technology that can make you see things, hear things. You could be standing right next to him and not know it. No, give me the gun. I don’t have any implants.”  
Ishikawa hesitated. Then he gave the gun to Mizuri.  
Mizuri looked at it. He had never held a gun before.  
“Point it that way, pull this thing here,” said Ishikawa.  
Mizuri nodded. He jumped out of the van and started for the building. “And if the Major wakes up, don’t let her connect to the security network,” he shouted over his shoulder.  
Ishikawa watched him go. “As if I could stop her,” he muttered. “That’s the first thing she would do.”

 

Togusa entered the room, although somehow the figure seemed to have changed position. The Laughing Man turned and lifted his gun.  
“Drop it!” said Togusa. “Drop it, or I drop you!”

 

“Put the gun down,” said Batou, who had climbed through the fourth-floor window. “Nice and slow.”  
But the figure in the blue overalls didn’t move. It just stood there, pointing the little gun at Batou, its face covered and unreadable.  
“Last chance!” said Batou.  
From the stairway, he heard the sound of running feet. They ran past the landing and up the next flight of stairs.  
If the Laughing Man heard it, he gave no sign.

 

The white dot reappeared in the Major’s vision.  
EMP, she thought. Walked right into it.  
Her vision began to clear but she remained paralysed. She could see, past the legs of the table, a closed door, turned sideways. She could hear, somewhere behind her, slow-moving footsteps.  
She felt someone gently pushing her hair away from the back of her neck, exposing her jacks.  
The door crashed open.  
“Get away from her!” shouted a voice.  
Mizuri! she thought. What the fuck … !?  
She saw him struggling with the gun. She heard the person behind her turn, and from the corner of her eye saw him lifting his own weapon.  
There was a double volley of gunfire.  
Oh no …

 

Mizuri’s burst of fire had smashed the computer and the black box, and the Laughing Man – or whoever it was – was dead.  
She felt some movement return to her limbs. She crawled to where Mizuri lay on the floor, at the centre of a spreading red stain.  
“Hi, babe,” he said. A spurt of blood came out of his mouth. “Did I get him?”  
She nodded as best she could.  
“He was going to put a data bomb in your head,” he said, his voice softening. “The Laughing Man told me. The real one.”  
“Don’t try to talk,” she said.  
“It’s too late,” he rasped. “No fixing me. Not like you. But we enjoyed the little piece of life we had together, didn’t we?”  
“We did,” she said. “We did.” Tears began to drift down her face. He reached up and touched her lips.  
“Takitoi,” he said. “My darling. Please … one last kiss.”  
She kissed him, tenderly. “Goodbye, my love,” she whispered.  
Batou and Togusa came bursting through the door, guns up and ready.  
“It’s over,” said the Major.

 

PART III

 

FOR EYES OF ARAMAKI DAISUKE ONLY – ASSESSMENT OF MOTOKO KUSANAGI – EXECUTIVE SUMMARY  
1\. Since the last report relating to the psychological state of Major Kusanagi, there has been considerable change. This is essentially due to her three-month relationship with Professor Robert Mizuri, now deceased. Her response/performance levels have returned to optimum levels, and there are no signs of the previous degradation.  
2\. It is significant that, following the death of Professor Mizuri, Major Kusanagi initiated contact with this unit, presumably to aid her in processing the psychological consequences of the relationship and its ending. While she inevitably, and understandably, feels a measure of guilt in connection with the death of Professor Mizuri, it is our assessment that she has been able to successfully process her feelings. We note that, in the period of leave granted to her following the death of Professor Mizuri, she spent a great deal of time crying. She commented to this unit, at this time, that she ‘felt as if she would cry forever’, but of course this feeling was a part of her mourning and recovery. Painful as this process obviously was for Major Kusanagi, the fact she was able to resolve her turmoil by this method of expression is, overall, a positive sign for her future development.  
3\. The sexual component of her relationship with Professor Mizuri was important to her. She has recently indicated that she might be willing to engage in a further sexual relationship if (to use her words) ‘a man brave enough and foolish enough, and with a big enough dick, comes along’. The sense of humour implicit in this statement indicates that she has successfully come to terms with the relationship and its ending.  
4\. She has also taken up several recreational activities, notably ocean diving. She has suggested that she might seek to learn to dance – not through a software enhancement but through lessons from a human teacher – although it is unclear whether this comment was serious.  
5\. Major Kusanagi remains, at a very deep level, ambivalent about her status (effectively unique) as a human consciousness in a high-performance combat-designed android body. At some point, this ambivalence will need to be addressed or expressed. For the foreseeable future, however, we believe she will remain an asset to Section Nine and the Ministry, and should be treated as such.

 

END


End file.
